


Sleep

by sb_essebi



Series: Whouffaldi one-shots [12]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Cuddles, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Partial Nudity, Sharing a Bed, Whump, clara is a huge tease, injured!Clara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sb_essebi/pseuds/sb_essebi
Summary: Prompt: by anonymous; could you do something where Clara gets really hurt on an adventure gone wrong, and a bit more of the Doctor's sympathetic side comes out as he gets her back to the TARDIS and fixes her up. Some hardcore fluff too.





	Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Set right after Mummy on the Orient Express. I didn't know if with "hardcore fluff" you meant very fluffy fluff or fluff with sexy tendencies, so I tried to do both. Both is good.

The Doctor held Clara tight against his chest as he carried her, her arms weakly wrapped around his neck, her head resting just below his chin as he tried to keep her unconscious form as still as possible as he ran through the jungle.

It had been a stupid mistake, really. His mistake, of course. She had demanded him to show her some planets, and so he had done. But in the joy of finally having her back with him he had forgotten to assure himself that the planet they visited wasn't hostile in that particular period. They had been captured. Locked up in prison. He had taken too long to free himself, long enough to find her in her cell, unconscious, covered in blood and so pale he had thought, for a few petrifying moments, that it was already too late.

The relief of finding her alive had been absurdly brief, soon taken over by a boiling feeling of absolute fury at the sight of her injuries. His memories of the events that had brought him here, a few metres away from his TARDIS, were blurred, confused. His clothes were soaked in blood. Some was Clara's. Some could be his. Right now, he couldn't tell. He could have broken bones now and not realize it. He couldn't feel, he couldn't hear or see, he was acting merely on instinct. The only thing he was aware of was the beat of Clara's heart, slow and feeble against his torso, resonating in his hypersensitive ears. He thought he could feel his hearts slowing down too, following the rhythm of hers as though desiring to stop together.

The Doctor gathered enough presence to draw a controlled breath, trying to calm himself down. He could still save her. He had to save her. He couldn't lose her. His throat went dry at the thought. He held her closer and murmured words fell from his lips without his permission or rational thought.

"You're not leaving me. Don't you dare."

He kicked open the doors of the TARDIS and reached the med bay, laying Clara on the small bed there. She had lost a lot of blood, even if he had ripped strips of her white shirt to patch up the worst. His improvised bandages were spotted in red.

The Doctor worked relentlessly on her, cleaning the wounds on her face and arms, stitching a deep cut at her temple, applying healing unguents on the injuries and wrapping them in sterilized gauze, treating the bruises over her face. He tried to convince himself that she was going to be alright now -after all, she would heal quickly thanks to his careful cures- but inside him was a storm of feelings between concern and fear and rage. All of this was his fault.

He ripped what was left of Clara's shirt to check for more injuries, sighing in relief at the sight of her skin nearly intact, save a few light bruises. He couldn't avoid the shiver that ran down his spine in seeing Clara with only her skirt and a bra on as he sat in the little space left on the bed, by her side. The Doctor chastised his stray thoughts, carefully taking her in his arms again and moving her to his bedroom, so she could be more comfortable, leaving her only for a moment to fetch a clean shirt, sitting on the bed beside her, watching her, guarding her.

~oOo~

When Clara woke up, the first thing she became aware of was her head pulsating painfully. She winced, feeling more pain over the rest of her face and on her arms. She remembered. Being captured. Being separated from the Doctor. Torture. She shuddered.

"You're awake."

Her eyes popped open at the sound of the Scottish accent she knew too well. The light was dim, but she could distinguish an unknown bedroom around her and a shy smile meeting her gaze in the direction the voice had come from. A bed. She was laying in a large, soft double bed with dark blue blankets, and the Doctor was by her side on the mattress. There was a strong hand with long fingers firmly holding hers. The Doctor's hand.

"Hi," she murmured, responding to his smile with one of her own.

His eyes were bright with a mixture of sadness, concern and tiredness, and she was surprised in reading so much in his face, since this version of him usually let nothing transpire. Not when he knew she was looking, at least.

"Hey. How do you feel?"

"Like I've just been run over by a truck."

He scanned her with his screwdriver. "You will be fine," he stated, looking at the results, almost more to himself than to her. His hand held hers more tightly. "What they did to you-"

"-wasn't your fault," she interrupted, "I'll be okay, I promise. Maybe I'm not right now, but I will be. I don't really want to think about it now, okay?"

That seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded slightly. There were many things Clara was scared about but, as he knew just as well, physical pain wasn't one of them. His hand found her cheek and his thumb stroked her skin gently. She became aware of plasters on her face. Her head hurt and it was difficult to think, but she could focus on how strange all that physical contact was for him.

"I thought I had lost you," he said, almost answering her question.

She had rarely seen this Doctor so open. So openly  _scared_. He looked so vulnerable like this, plain concern and fear in his eyes, and she felt vulnerable too. This, this was exactly what she was afraid of. Situations where she wasn't in control. Of herself, of her feelings. She had only just realized how addicted she was to him, how she  _loved him_ , and there he was, saving the day like the hero she would always fall for.

"I didn't know you could do this," she commented, changing the topic, observing the neatly wrapped bandages on her arms and finding a similar one around her head as she reached for her temples.

"Do what?"

"Be… a doctor. Like, a real, proper doctor."

"I  _am_  a real Doctor," he protested.

"Of course you are." Clara laughed softly, moving to pull him into a hug. His body stiffened even more than the usual, his arms cautiously kept off her body.

"Uh- Clara?"

"Mmmh?" She held him closer, burying her face against his chest. She was used to his objections about the hugging, and he didn't get a say in it.

"Do you- uh-"

Wait.  _Wait_. She had her nose and forehead pressed against his chest. His very shirtless,  _very naked_  chest. She pulled away abruptly, feeling her cheeks burn suddenly.

"Doctor! Why  _on Earth_  aren't you wearing your shirt?!"

"Because  _you_  are wearing it, Clara." She looked at herself and realized only then that the shirt she was wearing wasn't her own. It was thicker, a little larger and at least a full foot longer. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows to leave her injured forearms free, maybe for him to check the state of the bandages. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I had to check if you had other bruises under that."

Clara looked back up at him and her heart made a flip when she noticed the bright red on his cheeks, the tip of his ears nearly purple with a blush.

"It's okay," she assured, feeling her own cheeks on fire. "Wait. No. Where's my shirt?"

"Why do you care? You have lots of shirts anyway. And it wasn't even a nice one-"

" _Doctor._ "

"I- had to rip it. I had to stop the bleeding…"

" _You made bandages out of my shirt?_ "

"Yes…"

"You're buying me a new shirt," Clara said, punching his arm. Which revealed itself to be a very, very bad idea. It was definitely not the right moment to notice how hard and solid his strong muscle felt under her small fist, and the motion reverberated through her arm up to her head, intensifying the pain.

"I have no money."

"Then I'll keep your shirt."

Damn. She hadn't meant to say that aloud. He gave her raised eyebrows and darkened eyes in reply, betraying a desire that she had never suspected was there and that tugged fiercely at her abdomen. His hand found her cheek again and it made her shiver. There was infinite tenderness in his gaze, somewhere between apologetic and –dared she say it?- almost  _adoring_. She wanted to open her mouth to say something, but her throat had suddenly gone dry and the next thing she knew was that her eyes had dropped to his lips and his lean and muscular chest, heaving rhythmically with quick breaths. When she looked back up, the Doctor's face was closer and a second later was kissing her, beautifully soft, thin lips pressing urgently against hers, chastely but firmly, speaking of suppressed feelings and need for reassurance.

It was over even before Clara could start kissing him back, lasting only enough for her brain to register how wrong this was and how right it felt. Then the Doctor pulled back and muttered an apology, something about being sorry and weak and foolish, but she wasn't listening. Before he could say another word, she tugged him back close, lacing an arm behind his neck. He didn't protest, letting out a small appreciative sound when their parted lips met, kissing her hard and passionately, his hands cupping her face, almost begging her to never let this end. A bruise on her arm ached against his bony shoulder, holding him in place. She felt a small explosion of pain at her temple when their teeth touched. And she couldn't bring herself to care.

She only broke the kiss when she got so lost in the feel and taste and scent of him that she forgot to keep breathing through her nose, pulling back suddenly with a gasp.

"Clara. What are we doing?" he whispered, lips only a couple of inches apart from hers.

"Sleeping," she answered after a moment.

Sleep. She needed sleep. She couldn't think straight now. She had to rest, and maybe afterwards she could get to sort out what was happening. Tell Danny that the last time she'd told him "I love you" she was saying it to the Doctor. Hell, tell Danny that she had just lied to him, pretending she had dumped the Doctor when she hadn't. If that wasn't cheating, she didn't know what it was. Just the simple use of the word "dump" was absurd, she had used it twice now, almost involuntarily, as though her mind had already decided that the Doctor was her boyfriend, no matter what he said. She would have to deal with all that. But later.

The Doctor pushed a stray strand of her hair behind her ear a nodded. "You should rest. Take care for a few days. That's quite a concussion you have there. I'll be right here if you need me." In saying so, he yawned, and Clara saw the need for sleep written all over his face.

"You look awful. How long have you been awake? How long have I been out?"

"You? Several hours. I just- haven't really slept since…" he trailed off.

"The Moon?" He nodded. "When was that for you?"

"About a month ago."

"God, Doctor, that's crazy even for you." He smiled shyly. She sighed and pretended to ignore him, adjusting the pillow and laying down on her side, although keeping an eye on the Doctor. "So? Come here," she half-ordered.

"What?"

"Yes, come on. Under the covers. Spoon me."

" _What?_ "

"Do as you're told, Doctor."

Clara heard him sigh and start unlacing his boots, then heard the sound of those being laid on the floor. He lay next to her under the covers, keeping a respectful distance, but she pulled him closer, tugging his arm around her, and pressed herself against him. He shivered.

"Clara-"

"Shhh. Sleep."

He huffed and reluctantly calmed down, slowly placing his head closer to hers and holding her more tightly. Clara realized her mistake as he did so. She was tired, yes, but still hyperaware of him, his scent, the little layers between them. She shifted her position a little. Crap. She usually slept on her side, but not  _this_  side. And obviously she couldn't change position or she would be pressing the injured portion of her head against the pillow. Again and again she tried to adjust herself against the Doctor's torso in a way that didn't have her bruised shoulder press against his hard collarbone, or the thick fabric of his trousers rub uncomfortably against her legs. She went on moving like this, her back pressed against the Doctor's front, until he outright whimpered into her ear. She stopped. She felt an unmistakable bulge against her bum.

" _Clara_. Stay  _still_  for a moment," he pleaded.

"Why?" She couldn't help but smile cheekily.

"You  _know_  why," he answered grumpily. It was his turn to shift restlessly for a moment.

"I wish I could do something…" she started, sneaking her hand between his thighs. "…but I have to rest… doctor's orders."

"Your doctor knows  _exactly_  what he's about," he growled, firmly grabbing her wrist and placing it on her pillow again. "you're not doing anything,  _or anyone_ , for a few days."

"Such a serious professional," she giggled, even if it made her head pulse.

"Shut up."

"…I love you. You know that?" she asked, turning to look at him over her own shoulder.

He smiled the most genuine and involuntary smile.

"I do now," he stated, placing two fingers to her temple. "Sleep."

His smile was the last thing she saw before falling asleep abruptly.


End file.
